


third part of man

by poziomeczka



Category: Deathwatch (2002)
Genre: M/M, Multi, awful pornz, bumming, charlie and mcness are in luuuurve, charlie's underage in some countries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poziomeczka/pseuds/poziomeczka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie goes down in the trenches....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lulahbelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulahbelle/gifts).



The fingers in his hair are gentle but insistent, stroking through the damp strands, scraping his scalp encouragingly. Charlie smiles meekly, rubbing his cheek against the heated rigid flesh, eyes closed. Pleased. 

MacNess's breath is a bare puff in the rain-soaked air, hitched low in his throat as he watches him with half-lidded eyes. There's something in them. Tenderness even, some sort of vague admiration that warms Charlie deep, makes him want to please the man. Show that he can be good. So good for him.

He laps at the head, already sleek with fluid, it's salty and a little bitter, nothing like Tate oddly enough and Charlie knows it shouldn't surprise him. It is not altogether unpleasant and Charlie wants it. Wants to give MacNess this. This, and whatever else MacNess will have of him. He pushes the foreskin back with his tongue, experimentally, and moves to suckle at the head. 

MacNess's hips surge forward and Charlie lets out a startled gasp. 

"I'm sorry" MacNess gruffs out, sounding winded and hoarse, like it's been torn from him. "I'm sorry Charlie."

Charlie splutters like an indignant kitten, pulling himself back. He looks back on MacNess, his vision slightly blurry from the unshed tears that sprung to his eyes. The other looks dazed, kind but also impatient. Charlie swallows visibly and licks his lips, reveling in the lust that darkens the Scot's face. He likes it. He loves it. Being wanted like that. It warms him in places he thought he'd never be warm again. 

His skinny little fingers come to embrace the root of MacNess's cock to stroke lightly, unconsciously teasing. It's beautiful, Charlie thinks, thick and strong just like the rest of him and god, Charlie wants it. Wants all of it. In his mouth, in his arse, spilling between his thighs like Jennings did that first time he had him, silently between the blankets. Like a thief. 

" 'S okay", he says, voice thick with tears or maybe just his own lust, and he wraps his lips around the flushed tip. Red, angry with neglect.   
He sucks eagerly, lost in his own sensation, finding the little bundle of nerves, the way Tate showed him, rubbing at it with his tongue, listening to MacNess's sharp intakes of breath as he strains underneath him in barely contained pleasure. 

He's holding back. He's holding back for him. For Charlie. For Charlie who left a man behind because he was scared, so scared. For Charlie, who should have been shot for this.   
To think that this powerful man, so exhausted with this, tired of this war, this life, is holding back just for the sake of his mere comfort. That he refused to take it fully, the only thing he was allowed to take for himself. It makes Charlie's heart swell with something more than just desire and gratitude. 

He moves down slowly, breathing through his nose as best as he can and sinking down as far as he can as MacNess trashes beneath him, desperate charliecharliecharlie spilling from his mouth. He's struggling not to push his hips up into the warm welcoming heat of Charlie's mouth, MacNess's hip twitches frantically under the boy's splayed palm.  
Charlie can practically feel the other man's fevered thinking.   
He wishes he would stop and just fuck his mouth like he wants to.  
Charlie would let him.

He sucks harder, sleeking the length with his saliva, taking the thick hard flesh, burning on his tongue, oozing salty fluid that Charlie swallows eagerly, humming with pleasure, wanting more of it, now that he's had a taste. He works his mouth down to meet his fingers, trying to open up his throat the best he can, sucking harder, tonguing the underside as if worried he missed a path, finding that little gem of nerves that makes MacNess melt, trembling and straining underneath him, making Charlie, sweet helpless little Charlie, drunk with power.   
"God, fuck, fuck, Charlie, Charlie, fuck--"

He pulls off almost completely, MacNess groaning low in his throat at the loss. His cock is red and angry, leaking heavily now, the liquid dripping down the hard, thick length, smeared rhythmically by Charlie's skilled fingers. It brings him hard aware of his own cock, straining heavy and full with blood in his grainy army trousers; he knows that it wouldn't take much, that were he to palm himself through the thick material it would all be over in a heartbeat, he'd gasp and moan, curl onto himself shivering, embarrassed, like that first time Hawkstone put a hand to him. 

Instead he presses a long, lingering kiss to the tip, his pretty pink mouth touching the rim with just a shadow of a smile. He looks up on MacNess through his wet, sandy eyelashes and the look on MacNess's face makes heat pool impossibly hotter in his belly. 

"Fuck. Yer sucha fuckin' tease--" and he doesn't sound or look irritated, more breathless and taken aback than anything else. 

MacNess looks about as incredulous as he is aroused, and Charlie feels that perhaps he himself should be surprised. At how much he loves it. This. Being MacNess's eager little whore.

He knows they call him that. He's heard them. 

It should shame him, but it doesn't. He wants to be exactly that. He just wishes MacNess would see. Would see that it's okay to take, to use, to want. Because Charlie wants it too. Why can't he have it? 

"You can do it, you know" Charlie says, trying to sound serious but coming out just plainly earnest and so desperately young. "Fuck my face."

I know you want to, I can tell you want to, I can feel you want to, he wants to add.   
But MacNess, stubborn, stupid, loving MacNess shakes his head, wearily. Like it takes him some inhuman effort to do it. And Charlie sets his face defiantly, not caring if he looks like a petulant child. 

It's like that first time all over again. He refused him that first time, refused when Charlie asked to be taken. He laughed that throaty, harsh laugh of his and rubbed Charlie off through his trousers, had him coming in minutes, whimpering and shuddering and so very sixteen and a half. 

Setting his jaw in determination, he sinks back down, to the hilt this time, meeting the circle of his fingers at the root. The blunt head bumping the spongy back of his throat. If MacNess won't do it then so be it, he's perfectly capable of doing it himself. 

"Fuck, fuck, goddamn you, Shakespeare" MacNess moans, voice angry and as thick with desire as Charlie ever heard him "You stubborn little shit". 

Charlie snorts a laugh, hums happily as he bobs his head, knows it won't be long for either of them. That he can come just from this, just from the feel, the taste of cock. There are hands on his hips and Charlie's spine stiffens and MacNess's cock bobs free, slapping wetly at Charlie's open mouth. Drawing a shaky, cautious breath, he expects the absolute worst.

No no no no please let it not be Quinn, let it not be Quinn no no no no anyone please 

It can't be Quinn, he keeps telling himself over and over in those brief slow-downed moments, had it been Quinn he'd be face first in the mud, fucked without mercy, his whole body jerking, recoiling from the stabbing thrusts. He'd be bruised and battered, blood trickling down his thighs, down to his knees mixing with mud, swirling in the slush.   
Those hands are quick on his trousers, fingers gentle but efficient on the fastenings and a melodious voice follows:  
"Shh shh Charlie", Fairweather says, and Charlie almost laughs at how distinctly Welsh just those few syllables sound. He's giddy with relief. 

"It's me." The doctor's hands push down at his trousers and he helps, shimmying happily out of them, hissing a little as his own hot, blood-thick cock meets the chilled air.  
"God, just look at you", he hears Doc whisper above him, his hand exploring his lower back, stopping by the moles scattered there, brushing excruciatingly slow past his arse; he feels his hole pulse in answer to the light caress. "Just look at you."

He bites his lip and looks straight at MacNess, meeting the heat in his eyes with his own, in their private challenge. He wants his hole tender and bruised on fat cock, and he's going to get it and if MacNess won't do it, then he'll have it one way or another. 

Fairweather brushes his hands over him, doctor's hands, less calloused than those Charlie's grown so used to, he cups one of his arsecheeks, caressing the perk pink flesh and Charlie pushes back impatiently, eyes still firmly on MacNess, his fist still pumping his dick, not willing to part with him even for a second. And then there's a slap that has Charlie gasping and hissing with the sharp edge of pain, pushing back despite it, the smack echoing loudly in the cold, crisp air like a whip crack. Another one. And another one. Until his knees are shaking and he's sobbing for one of them to please do something please please, pre-come spilling from the plum of his cock. 

MacNess strokes his hair, moving from his prone position to kiss at the side of the boy's mouth. He raises himself fully, his straining dick level with Charlie's, and Charlie doesn't think twice before lapping at the flesh, sucking it into his mouth as finally, finally the fingers in his hair tighten and MacNess's hips set a jaw-numbing, delicious pace. He knows he's going to come just from this and he thinks he should feel a little abashed, at showing MacNess how much he has craved it, but before he knows it there's a hand on his cock, not even stroking, just cupping, and he's coming, taken by surprise, his pleasure soft and languid, engulfing him like an afterthought as his whole body shudders with it, and he spills against Doc's expert hand and his own belly, keening around MacNess. 

"There there, Charlie" Doc says, kissing down his back, "that'll make it easier for you".  
He takes his dripping fingers from Charlie's dick, it gives him a sad half-hearted twitch at the parting, but before Charlie has time to even groan in disapproval two wet fingers push into the tight heat of his arse and he pushes himself back, trembling, and clutching onto MacNess's stuttering hips for dear life. He pulls back, making MacNess curse, licking wide wet stripes across his cock and mouthing at his balls, as Doc works his fingers into him, scissoring him open, his own come wet inside him. 

Charlie pushes back, hissing and gasping, as Doc finds that sweet little spot deep inside him, the one that makes everything go sharp and white with sparks of pleasure; he can already feel the familiar tightness in his sack, his cock already beginning to fill, too soon, it's almost painful but not enough for him to want it to stop.


	2. Chapter 2

He swallows MacNess again, moaning encouragingly at his shallow thrusts.   
"Do you know, MacNess" Doc says, breaking the heated silence of their panting breaths. It's far from being a question, the tone almost conversational, but even Charlie can tell there's a tremor in his voice, and moments later, Fairweather withdraws his fingers only to replace them with the blunt head of his wet ---slicked with Charlie's come-- cock and he can feel his hole, eager, wanting, pulsing in response. 

"Do you know MacNess--", Fairweather repeats, rasping this time as he pushes in, making Charlie shake like a newborn colt. "Do you know he whines for you when the others fuck him?"

And Charlie wishes he had it in him to protest, but all he can do is moan, in some perverse combination of humiliation and pride, and suck MacNess with renewed enthusiasm. In confirmation. 

"He whines for you every—ah--time", Doc gasps, as his hips surge deep inside Charlie's greedy little hole and the boy keens, low and long in his throat. Yes, yes, yes more, he needs more of this "He whines for you like a little bitch." 

Fairweather starts rocking his hips in earnest now, stretching Charlie open on his dick, sending him flying forward, straight into MacNess. It's too much, too much sensation with MacNess's musky scent overwhelming him and Doc pounding into him, his normally caring hands pressing marks into his sides. It's good, so good with MacNess's rasping, harsh breaths above him and Doc murmuring nonsense into his skin as he ruts with sharp stabbing thrusts, not even pulling out anymore, his left hand drifting from its tight grip on Charlie's hipbone, to the boy's shoulder to clasp onto, pushing him back onto his cock, and Charlie can feel his consciousness slipping from him. 

MacNess tugs at his hair urgently and tears himself away, and Charlie sobs out his disapproval, not even aware he's doing it.  
It's not until then that it hits him what he's been lacking. He inhales suddenly, gulps down deep, frantic breaths through his mouth, and the icy spikes of oxygen scratch his lungs, the world sharpening up around him again.   
MacNess kneels down in the dirt, right in front of him and, no no no, it's all wrong now Charlie thinks feverishly. He wants it he needs it, he wants MacNess where he was and he's going to be good, he promises, he really will be---

The man laughs, sinks both of his large calloused hands back into the boy's hair.  
"Breathe, you idiot" he says, kissing up Charlie's temple and brow, a peck on the side of his freckled nose. 

With a furious jolt of his hips, Fairweather sends him crashing into the solid plane of the Scotsman's chest. Charlie's shaking arms, finely muscled for someone so young, give out and he nearly falls face-first into the dirt, but MacNess catches him, like he always does, and Charlie wraps his arms around him tightly, anchoring himself, cheek pressed against MacNess's neck, nested between the juncture between his neck and shoulder. And Charlie clings to him, doing his best to push back into Doc, proud of the harsh hisses he gets in return and he pants, an open-mouthed puff of air against McNess's sweaty shoulder as Fairweather leans in, covers him back to chest, mouthing blindly at the moles on the flushed skin of Charlie's back and rams repeatedly into his prostate, relentless. Sharp, white sparks of pleasure down his spine. He writhes and keens with it.  
"Yes. Fuck it, yes please fuck it. Yesyesyesyeys. Fuck it. Please, fuck. Please please more", it spills out of him in a litany of pleas and curses. "Please, I can take it. Icantakeit. Harderharder nnghhh please p-please".

MacNess holds him tight, nibbles at his ear, strokes his hair, murmurs little encouragements, keeps him awake, conscious whenever he starts to slip out of it. Doc's pace falters and he comes with a groan, shoots deep inside the tight heat and his hands slip on Charlie's sweat-slicked skin, Charlie gropes behind him, squeezing Doc's arse, pushing him deeper, riding it out with him. Fairweather slumps against the boy, worn out with the extent of his pleasure. He leaves small biting kissed down Charlie's back as he withdraws with an obscene wet pop and Charlie misses him already. 

"Such a good boy, Charlie" Doc says and he can hear the wide, sated smile in his voice.   
MacNess grabs him by the buttocks, come oozing out of him, pulling him onto his lap, and Charlie doesn't hesitate, climbs all over him like a litter of kittens, wrapping his limbs around him and rising his hips eagerly to take MacNess's dick in. To sink down in one smooth stride. But MacNess has other plans apparently, as he grabs his narrow hips, keeps him in place, settling them both comfortably and wraps a hand around them both, stroking them in a practiced, steady rhythm.

"Nonnononono", Charlie protests, his voice breaking. "Nono. MacNess. I want you. I want you deep. Please."  
"Charlie, Charlie--" he starts, more than a little shaken.   
And Charlie topples them over, earning a gasp of surprise, pushing MacNess's back into the dirt, and he slides down, in one smooth motion, his body content and open for MacNess. He sighs happily as it fills him perfectly, setting each and every nerve alight. MacNess chokes on a breath, arching underneath him, overwhelmed, and Charlie looks down at him with wide, adoring eyes, and MacNess meets them and there's so much frustration about this boy, this wonderful boy that just crawled into his life, giving and demanding and giving a shit about him for a change, and there is so much love, so much much love in those gray eyes that Charlie can't help but screw his own shut in defence. Feeling like he's bound to burst into flames under that heated gaze. 

He starts to move, rocking his hips steadily in sweet low-burning torture, relishing in the feeling. How full, how good it feels. That's where MacNess should be, that's where he should always be---

"How would we walk?", MacNess breathes out a weak laugh, and Charlie realizes he must have said that aloud. 

"We'd find a way", Charlie retorts, his face pinched in concentration as he lifts himself up and falls back down, finding a pace. His own neglected cock throbs painfully as it leaves trails over MacNess's belly, and Charlie rides him, sucking in his plump lower lip, eyes thinning out, exquisite in his ecstasy. MacNess meets him, thrust for thrust, clutching at the boy's sides as Charlie claws down his chest, wilder with each forceful push that sets him aflame, growling low and feral in his throat, beyond language. 

"God, Charlie", MacNess whispers, in awe, and his large hands travel up, leaving the boy's hips, pinching a nipple, squeezing his thin shoulder as this goddamn kid, that will clearly be the death of him, goes into a frenzy. "So fucking beautiful, god I-- you drive me fucking nuts---"

He reaches for Charlie's blushing cock, boyishly plump, a decent size for someone who's had maybe two proper growth spurts to his name, and tugs, but the boy bats his hand away.  
"No", Charlie says, hoarse, like speaking goes through him, his voice eerie to both MacNess and his own ears. "I can---I want---"

Just this., he wants to say. Wants to tell MacNess that this is the happiest he's ever been. That this is enough to erase all the others. Erase Starinsky, Quinn, Tate, Hawkstone. Erase Jennings's clumsy fumblings and Doc's caring, gentle hands. Make it all invalid. Like, like a do over. Make it good. Make it just them. So he can kiss MacNess under an apple tree like he's dreamt of doing, and squeeze his large hand when they go visit his wife's grave. 

And if he can come. Just on this. Maybe somehow all of this can happen. They can be enough.

He does, nuts off like a rocket, howling his release as MacNess grabs him by the hips again, his thumbs settling in the little groves just above his arse, and flips them over. Kissing Charlie deep, taking everything there is to take, everything Charlie offers. They shudder together, fucking out their aftershocks, surging through them like darts. They gasp in each other's mouths with MacNess rubbing gentle circles into the boy's bruised hips, fascinating patterns of purple already starting to blossom. He places a single sweet kiss to the middle of his sweaty, rapidly cooling chest, and Charlie's eyes flutter shut despite his best efforts. 

When he wakes, not long after, he can tell from the heaviness of his eyelids, he's warm and more comfortable that he's been in what feels like a lifetime. He's wrapped in a blanket and clumsily dressed in his too-big clothes, his head lolled back on MacNess's shoulder. He swallows, his throat dry and sore from all the screaming. MacNess smiles above him, his prickly beard tickling his forehead, and he smiles back shimmering with happiness and reaches to pet it affectionately. 

"Thank you", he says, hearfelt, and knows that he would never be able to muster the words to convey what he means, but he thinks that MacNess understands him, comprehends what this is as Charlie hears him swallow silently.   
He checks his surroundings through his lashes, and realizes that the other warmth comes from the doctor, that he's tucked safely between them and he raises his head sleepily, his hand stroking Doc's cheek, and he moves to kiss him chastely on the lips.   
"You're welcome", Doc says, winking and answering Charlie's cheeky grin with his own. "Least I could do".

And Charlie reclines, his back melting in the heat of MacNess's wide tartan-clad chest, his legs across Fairweather's knees, and he drifts into his dreams of dwarfish apple trees and wide Scottish fields as Doc and MacNess whisper together well into the night.


End file.
